Holly Wood And Vine Poem by James McLain

My three pink babies and their lips must I.
Pink limousines it's full, plus one more.
No guy would ride inside they said, but I.
The glass between the drivers bullet proof
the drapes are pulled, as she jets off.
Across the isle.
The others lollies are so plush, I push her up
right through the roof, she moons at all.
My palm is flush,
one digits stuck she does not seem too mind,
and does it once again and spins on it around.
Screaming is all sound, We grow in waves.
The others changing cloths she brought and
nothing stays the same and such as we are hot.
Her panties off and pink as well they seem too me,
so clean and clear and without fear, they seem to
float off down and drift above the floor.
Pink so ripe it fill the air and bottles lay around
the floor and some with corks to pull.
The others swell they were, but now they popped.
Holly wood and Vine, it hits each spot the night
is young, but so are we.
I look across the isle and wonder why there's four
instead of three and we are ripe and full of life.